THIS SWEET-TALKING INNOCENT SOUTHERN Christian is in my head. She’s fucking around in there and it’s both thrilling and damn near terrifying. I’ve never wanted something past one night, never dreamed of staying celibate in hopes that I would get a taste of something off limits.

Her voice, God that voice and the way it echoes in my head, louder than the damn piano did. She’s melody ridden, her angelic soprano voice therapeutic to my tortured self. If she would have let us, I would have stayed seated at that piano and played every song I possibly could, just so I could hear her voice over and over again. Then she reached out to me for answers, called for me to make sense of what this all is. Hell if I fucking know. I’m just as unsure as she is about what’s happening between us. However, I know that whatever is happening is contradictory to everything we believe and who we are.

I’m the rock star who never settles for anything other than a quick hit and fix, while she’s warped in her religion, consumed with hiding from men like me. We’re the very existence of the things we both never saw coming. And that alone makes me want her even more—that makes this all the more tantalizing.

“I can make us some ice cream with about fifty million different toppings.” Sadie interrupts my wayward thoughts. My eyes scan over her beautiful body as she reaches up to grab some bowls from the top cabinet. When she grabs them and her heels plant firmly on the floor, her round ass jiggles and my cock grows hard again.

Fuck.

She showered and I ran home to my apartment just ten minutes away to shower and change—spending a good amount of time jerking my cock to the image of her laid out on the piano for my mouth. I bet that pussy is beautiful. Bet her curves are like a winding back road, a raw blend of tight, smooth and juicy—a surprise at every fucking turn in the road.

Dressed down in another pair of skin tight yoga pants and a loose tee, she has me yearning to get a touch. Her big tits are playing peek-a-boo and I don’t think she knows it. I see the light tan lining of her tight nipple buds straining in the white top she’s blessing my eyes with.

“Ben?” I zoned out again.

“Shit, yeah, that sounds great, angel.”

“Perfect. I have some vanilla ice cream.”

“My favorite,” I add.

“Mine too.” She blushes. Another small thing about her that makes my heart feel like it’s being squeezed lifeless.

“Good and I have chocolate and whipped cream and about fifty types of sprinkles.” Her giggle sounds delicate in such a big space. I watch her busy herself with a proud smile. Finally peering up when it’s silent, she shakes her head, assessing her body.

“What, is something on me?” Lifting her arms to her side, I wrap my knuckles on the light granite countertop and stand.

“Nope, nothing wrong here. Actually, there may be one thing.” I round the counter as she stays still, her eyes following me as I near her.

“What?” she pushes.

“Well, you see.” Finding my place behind her, I place one hand on her hip then my other one collects the whipped cream. “I’ve always wanted to have a whipped cream fight. But no one was ever willing to go up against me.” Swallowing, she tilts her head.

“Ben…” she trails off and before she can even leave my hold, I attack. Lifting the can, I shake it and spray her right in the face. Squealing, she gawks at me through her creamed covered face.

“You freaking jerk!” I step back and hold the can up with my hands in the air.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. This thing just went off,” I tease and she reacts fast like a ninja. She grabs the can and catches the side of my face with a large amount as I turn to run. Laughing at herself, she points at me in mockery. I keep my face turned as I wipe some off my cheek and bring it to my mouth, savoring the taste with a sly grin.

“Oh yeah, you think you got me?” Slowly turning my head, I squint and shake my head at her. Widening her blue eyes, she takes two small steps backward.

“Three second head start and if I catch you, you’ll regret it,” I rumble. “One…” Finally setting herself in motion, she drops the can on the counter and runs toward the living room. “Two!” I raise my voice as I hear her passing through the living room. She yelps then giggles and that’s my cue. I cheat and take the doorway to her kitchen just to the right of her front entryway.

I see her already on the landing between the first and second set of stairs. Fuck, she’s fast. Peering back to see where I am, she lets out a scream and keeps running.

“Baby! Don’t you dare lock yourself in a room. I’ll fucking break the door down if you do!” I yell taking two steps at a time.

“Then don’t chase me!”

“Too late for that, tease!” I make it to the top of the stairs just as she shuts herself in what I’m assuming is her bedroom. I hurry my strides to get to it before she locks it and just in time, I do. I grab the knob and turn it as she laughs hysterically.

“Ben! Ahh!” I push it open and she backs up, I take the upper hand and slowly corner her. At this point our whipped cream has made its way onto our clothes and just a little bit is left on her tiny little button nose.

“You can’t win against me.”

“Oh shut it, cocky turd!” Lifting my brows, I’m pleased with her cheesy comeback.

“Cocky turd? Nice. Okay, fine.” I close the gap and swoop her up swiftly. She doesn’t fight, just throws her head back and laughs without regard. I let her enjoy herself while I lay her on the bed and admire her. Her laugh, her smile, her ways are beautiful to watch and I do for the next few seconds.

“Okay, you win, just cause you’re cute,” she chokes out between laughs.

“Every time you laugh, it reminds me of a melody.” I relax, halting our laughter and gaining her full attention.

On a tired breath, she whispers, “Oh yeah? You gonna write me a song Ben Cooper?”

Towering over her, I let my hand trail lazily over her shins the way wind passes in the night, almost like a whisper. “If it will make you fall in love with me, then I would write a never-ending sonnet. Different poems that tell the story of who you are and what you’re doing to me.”

“I don’t need the song. Keep talking like that boy and you’ll waltz right into my heart.” Her accent sounds thick, only making her more precious.

For a few more brief moments we look at one another, feeling each other out. Though I wish I could explain how we both are feeling, I can’t, but it feels real. Like seeing love in the darkness, or hearing it in silence. It’s that indescribable.

I break up the moment with great fucking effort. “We’re all dirty now. Guess I could shower in the guest bathroom.” I move and stand, assessing my now destroyed shirt that I just changed into a little over an hour ago. Checking the bedside clock, I see it’s nearing eleven p.m.

Sadie doesn’t respond, making me look back at her. Laying out on the bed I see the haze in her eyes as she looks me up and down. Waging a war inside her mind, she’s brewing up a choice, does she go left or right?

“What?” I ask lowering my voice and behind that look of wonderment, I sense lust. I can smell it, see it, feel it radiating off her.

We’re in a stare down as she still says nothing. I take the moment to travel my finger up and down the length of her leg, leaving a trail of thick, arousing goose bumps.

“What, Sadie?” I ask again.

“If I weren’t a girl with peculiar morals, I would beg you to wash me clean.” I nearly choke out my last breath when she bats her long lashes and her husky voice whispers such a temptation.

“Sadie, fuck. Don’t do that. I’m not a man of control. Putting that out there makes me more than ready to grab it and take what’s mine,” I growl, my cock growing in my jeans. Shit, I don’t want to get hard because if I keep this up I’ll get a severe case of blue balls.

“What’s yours?” Like a lioness, she slowly rolls onto her stomach then positions herself on all fours. The slither in her crawl toward me gets my cock straining painfully against the zipper of my jeans.

“You’re mine, Sadie—my lady and I ain’t letting you go.”

“You’re a rock star, Ben. You’ll forget about me just like the cities you forget in the rearview mirror of that tour bus.” Now on her knees at the edge of the bed, she leaves maybe a few inches between us. My thighs touch the bed as she brings those tiny, soft, feminine hands to my shirt and they escape under the fabric to touch my sizzling skin.

Those giant round blue orbs of hers are staring up at me under long thick lashes, teasing me along with the touch of her hand. My heart is jacked up to a hundred, my head is spinning a mile a minute, and I can’t grasp onto anything surrounding me. Well, there’s one thing I can grab onto to steady me, a talisman in a clusterfuck of “what is happening to me” moments—Sadie.

“I couldn’t shake you or drink you or drug you out of my system. I want you there, Sadie, fucking stuck.”

“Well then make sure you don’t break my heart.” The twang in her words melts me to nothing, making me a damn servant at her feet. Sadie has no idea the power she has taken over me or what this means for her to be able to make my black heart feel something.

“Right back at you, Saint Sadie,” I tease, but really I’m telling the truth. I won’t be able to handle her hurting me—in any way—rationally.

“Saint Sadie? Hmm, that’s different.” She pushes me back with a wink and rises from the bed. Rounding me, she looks over her shoulder as she saunters toward the bathroom, being anything but the saint she claims to be. There may be a little sinner in her waiting for the devil like me to ignite it, to show her a different side of this world that’s waiting to ravish her and twist her faith in a vice.

“Guest bathroom is down the hall, towels are in there. See you soon.” With one last smirk, she disappears behind the door. The second it closes I feel like I can take a deep breath, finally. Every time I’m in her presence she steals all the air from my lungs, making me drown in her.

The worst part? As I walk to the bathroom down the hall, I begin to hear the insecure voices thundering loudly in my head.

You’re no good for her.

You can’t settle.

You can’t stay tied down by one woman.

You’re a monster. An angry ridden disease, hooked on drugs. You’ll fucking destroy her.

Run.

The second those thoughts drift away from me, the good still left somewhere in the blackness inside me speaks, and I hear the things I wish I could believe for longer than the amount of time they last in my head.

You could be good for her.

You can settle.

She’s more than enough. She’s perfect. You could never get tired of her.

Maybe the monster can be captured by the saint. Maybe she can change you.

Stay.

Which voice do I pick? Which part of me do I go with? My brain telling me to run, or my heart telling me to let it stay and find the light to shine between the cracks of my darkened soul.

All I know is that if I stick with my heart, she has to know about my Intermittent Explosive Disorder, the aid of cocaine in my rage fighting, the terrible parts of me I can only hide for small amounts of time.

How do I even fucking begin?

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